


The Devil You Say

by Lint



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: There is something seriously wrong with this town.





	1. something wicked this way comes

There's something in the air.

 

She feels it on her skin the second that welcome sign comes into view. The town with pep, apparently. Some kind of strange atmospheric condition too, because it suddenly feels like she can't breathe, throat closing as she tries to take in oxygen. Then, just as quickly as it seemed to grab her, the feeling is gone.

 

“Are you alright, Veronica?” Mom asks, noticing the abrupt bulge of her eyes.

 

“Fine,” she replies. “I just-”

 

Can't think of a way to finish the sentence, so doesn't. Instead leaning back into the seat again and concentrating on her phone. Mom's attention returns to her own, and the rest of the ride passes in silence until they pull up in front of the building that now counts as home.

 

It strikes again, that feeling. Though not taking the breath from her lungs this time, more of a fleeting sense of dread, leaving her limbs to feel heavy as if the weight of the world has suddenly come crashing down.

 

Great, she thinks. They've been in town all of five minutes and she already hates it here.

 

/\

 

The smell of fried food is comforting.

 

At least there's that.

 

She didn't want to run this little errand for her mother, no matter the simplicity of picking up an order from a greasy spoon, the thought of being out in the dark of this humdrum little burg is discomforting to say the least.

 

Feeling a pair of eyes on her, she turns to meet them and is greeted by a half smile from a girl who looks to be the same age. In a booth all alone with a book perched in hand, Veronica steps toward her without a second thought.

 

“Hello,” she offers casually.

 

“Hi,” the girl replies.

 

“How are the onion rings here?”

 

“To die for. Seriously. People have. Those train tracks back there are no joke.”

 

Veronica's head turns toward the giant window on the back wall, just as a freight train rolls on by, and laughs openly.

 

“Pretty morbid sense of humor you got there,” she offers.

 

The girl grins.

 

“Parting gift from a friend of mine.”

 

“I'm guessing,” Veronica starts, thumbing jutting back in the direction of the still passing train. “They were the one who met an untimely death all in the name of deep fried delights?”

 

The girl laughs in return.

 

“No. He just moved to Toledo with his mom.”

 

Veronica nods.

 

“I just moved here myself.”

 

“Oh, that I could tell.”

 

“Am I so obvious?”

 

The girl grins.

 

“Not a lot of locals go for lost in the woods attire,” she teases.

 

Veronica looks down to her cloak.

 

“I hardly ever wear it,” she admits. “But something about the air here. I just felt the need to cover up.”

 

“You get used to it,” the girl passes on.

 

She suddenly feels vindicated.

 

“So it's not just me.”

 

The girl shakes her head.

 

“I'm Veronica by the way,” she goes on offering a hand. “Lodge.”

 

“Betty Cooper,” comes the reply, the syllables of her name said so nimbly they appear to be one, followed by an easy clasp of their hands.

 

“Betty Cooper like my-”

 

“Peer tour guide?” she interrupts. “That would be me.”

 

Serendipity pops into Veronica's head, and she smiles genuinely for the first time since she crossed the city limits.

 

“Care to join me?” Betty offers with a hand gesturing toward the empty side of the booth.

 

“I'd love to,” Veronica replies earnestly. “But my mom, she's waiting for me.”

 

Betty nods, a little disappointed. “No problem.”

 

“Really,” Veronica insists. “But I will see you tomorrow?”

 

“Bright and early,” Betty replies.

 

Veronica's heart skips with how much she's looking forward to it.

 

/\

 

They stroll through the hallways of Riverdale High and Veronica is doing a dreadful job of paying attention to Betty's enthusiastic and informative tour of the school. Sleep was near impossible with the new apartment, new room, new everything. It didn't help that she had finally managed to drift off, the strangest dreams she can ever remember having, crept into her subconscious. A bonfire in the middle of the woods. Faces with hollow eyes standing in a circle around it, all chanting some song she couldn't understand.

 

Betty does notice her lack of focus, and halts the whole speech after awhile, leaving the two of them wandering the halls in somewhat awkward silence.

 

“Can I ask kind of a personal question?” Veronica inquires after a few moments.

 

“Uh,” Betty hesitates. “Sure?”

 

“Why were you at that diner all by yourself? Just a casual observation here, but you seem like a pretty head of the class type, and a certain amount of popularity goes with that doesn't it?”

 

Betty laughs softly to herself.

 

“You'd be surprised,” she offers up.

 

“Okay no,” Veronica retorts. “If this is the part where you tell me you don't have any friends, I refuse to believe it.”

 

“Of course I have friends,” she shoots back. “It's just, well, they both kind of moved away within a month of each other.”

 

Oh, Veronica thinks to herself. Way to pick at a wound that obviously hasn't healed yet.

 

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes. “I have this thing, I get really forward, and sometimes it results with foot in mouth.”

 

“Don't worry about it.”

 

“It's just,” Veronica sighs. She's being ridiculous. “I'd really like to be your friend.”

 

For a moment Betty just looks at her, surprised by the possibility.

 

“Unless you don't-”

 

“Of course!” Betty is quick to cut her off. “No, that would be, I'd really like that too.”

 

She smiles, which Veronica is quick to mirror, but it doesn't quite reach the blonde's eyes. They tell a story all their own. Like, there's a reason why two of her friends moved away so quickly. And if she sticks around long enough, Veronica will discover that reason for herself.

 

/\

 

“You're a cheerleader?” Veronica gasps in surprise when Betty answers the door in her uniform.

 

“There is a condescending amount of shock in your tone, Ronnie.” Betty returns, grabbing the edge of her skirt with an exaggerated curtsy.

 

“No it's, uh, damn it. Doing that foot in mouth thing again.”

 

Betty grins.

 

“And you're just messing with me. Got it.”

 

“Come on in,” Betty invites with a tilt of her head.

 

One Veronica accepts with a step forward. It's a nice house, she thinks. Quaint. Like a living in a Rockwell painting. She catches the scent of something sharp, attention pulled to a small puff of smoke billowing from the family room, where Betty follows her gaze.

 

“Sage,” she informs. “Mom likes to purify the house at least once a day.”

 

Veronica nods a reply just as Betty's mother crosses into the foyer.

 

“A pure house,” she says pointedly at her daughter. “Is a powerful house.”

 

She looks to Veronica.

 

“Hello,” she offers in greeting. “I'm Betty's mother.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cooper.”

 

“Please, call me Alice.”

 

Veronica can't help but smirk when giving her name in return, that adults always seem to insist you call them by their first name upon an introduction, but it's always awkward if you actually do.

 

“We're just going to hang out in my room,” Betty says, tugging on Veronica's wrist. “If that's okay.”

 

“Of course, dear.”

 

Betty pulls them toward the stairs.

 

“Oh Veronica,” Alice calls out when they're halfway up. “Welcome to Riverdale. It'll be good to have some new blood around here.”

 

“Uh, thank you.”

 

What an odd thing to say, she thinks, trying to not shiver at the shift in Alice's eyes. Suddenly empty and almost black. Like a shark.

 

-

 

“You're mom is kind of-”

 

“Intense,” Betty finishes as they enter her room. “But harmless. Mostly.”

 

Veronica takes a cursory look around.

 

“Nice room.”

 

A blush creeps into Betty's cheeks, followed by a self depreciating smile.

 

“It's too pink,” her response.

 

Veronica doesn't disagree. But she wonders why Betty would choose to keep the color at all if she wasn't very fond of it. Something she actually asks aloud.

 

“Dichotomy?” Comes out like a question. “I hate it, so I surround myself in it.”

 

Veronica laughs.

 

“Waxing philosophical in a cheerleader outfit,” she deadpans. “Raise your hand if you suddenly feel like you're in another teen movie.”

 

Betty snorts at the comment, sitting on the edge of her bed.

 

“I'm starting to think you have some deep seeded opposition to cheerleading,” she chides playfully. “And are just trying your best to be polite about it.”

 

“No, no,” Veronica is quick to dismiss. “I mean, it's kind of like dancing right? I love to dance.”

 

“Dancing and gymnastics combined,” Betty replies. “And it looks great on a college application.”

 

“Hadn't thought of that,” Veronica concedes.

 

“We do have an open spot on the squad,” Betty continues. “If you're not so opposed. I mean, if you think you can handle it.”

 

Veronica's brow lifts, as she takes a stronger stance with arms folded.

 

“Is that a challenge?” She asks. “Because I have moves.”

 

“Show me,” Betty replies, rising from the bed.

 

“What?”

 

She takes a step closer.

 

“Your moves,” she inflects. “Show me.”

 

Veronica's breath hitches at the girl's sudden proximity.

 

“I need music.”

 

Betty nods, stepping back toward the nightstand where her phone rests next to a lamp, and queues up a song. Veronica waits a few moments to catch the rhythm, then bursts into an improvised routine, head hips and arms moving fluidly to the beat.

 

She's not sure how far into the song she gets before Betty joins her, surprised but pleased, that the girl seems to match her lead. It feeling so good she can't help but pull her newfound friend closer. Arms slide around each other with ease, when Betty shifts in her grasp, backside teasing along Veronica's front and god she just wants to...

 

Betty shifts again so they face each other, and Veronica closes her eyes just waiting for what's going to happen, when the song stops abruptly halting their movements with it.

 

“You've got moves,” Betty agrees, breathing slightly labored. “Practice. Tomorrow in the gym. After last period.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Well you're going to have to show my sister Polly, who's HBIC, what you just showed me. But I don't think it will be a problem.”

 

Veronica nods. Just like that.

 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she can't help to ask.

 

Betty looks honestly confused by the question. “Why wouldn't I be?”

 

“I don't know,” Veronica admits. Because it shouldn't be this easy. Moving to a new town. Making new friends. Burying the cold hearted ice bitch she used to be so deep down in only the first week. “I just...”  
  


She's not sure if it's Betty who leans in, or she who initiates the kiss, but it doesn't really matter. Veronica has been wanting to do this since their first conversation. With the way Betty pushes closer, she knows, it wasn't just her.

 

/\

 

Veronica shakes her shoulders and bounces on the balls of her feet, surrounded by a dozen girls in matching athletic attire, trying to get loose for practice.

 

“Veronica Lodge, I presume.”

 

She turns at the sound of her name, to be met with the expectant eyes of a shockingly pale girl, with fiery red hair that flows down the entire length of her back.

 

“I am,” she replies. “And you are?”

 

“Cheryl Blossom,” comes with an offered hand tipped by dagger like fingernails. “But everyone calls me Cherry.”

 

Veronica hesitates, seriously concerned those fingers could cut her, then looks intently the at the girl's face, her bullshit detector immediately ringing.

 

“Do they really?”

 

Cheryl is slow to smile, it pulling at her lips in the most unnerving way.

 

“No,” she admits. “I just wanted to see if you'd believe that.”

 

“Did I pass your little test?”

 

That smile again. God, is everyone in this town a total weirdo?

 

“You certainly did. Care to stretch together?”

 

“Actually, I was waiting for-”

 

“Betty stretches with Polly,” Cheryl interrupts. “First day. First lesson. But me? I'm free.”

 

“O-okay,” Veronica accepts, willing herself not to flinch when Cheryl reaches for her hands.

 

The soles of their feet slide along the slick wooden floor, legs slowing stretching into a split, Cheryl's hands a near death grip on Veronica's wrists. She winces when the back of their legs make contact with the ground, it having been quite a while since she's pulled herself this far down.

 

Cheryl doesn't ask if she's ready, before pulling forward, the burning in her muscles going from flicker to flame.

 

"What's your sin, Veronica?" Cheryl asks with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

 

“My what?”

 

"Your sin,” She repeats, leaning forward so that it's Veronica's turn to pull. “Everyone has one. It's like a specialty."

 

"I..." Veronica hesitates. "Don't know. I've never really thought about something like that."

 

That look, still lingering. Despite the oddity of the question, Veronica is curious what it could mean.

 

"What's yours?"

 

"Pride," Cheryl coos, pulling away one hand to thread her fingers through those long luxurious locks. "Isn't that obvious?"

 

Her hand goes back to Veronica's wrist, head tilting closer. "And aren't I a tasty little morsel?"

 

Her is breath hot on Veronica's ear as she nips playful, temptation rising with the goosebumps that dot Veronica's skin. "Don't you just want to eat me up?"

 

“That's enough, Cheryl.”

 

Betty's voice just above them, cold and authoritative. The shift in Cheryl's demeanor is instantaneous. Her strange but playful exuberance, wiped from her face in a flash, eyes wide and fearful. She pulls back from Veronica, sitting up quickly, then rising to her feet.

 

“I'm sorry,” she's apologizes rapidly, staring down at her shoes. “I was just-”

 

“I know what you were just.”

 

Veronica's brows furrow at the exchange. Disturbed at how scared of Betty Cheryl seems to be.

 

“It was nice meeting you,” Cheryl says softly. “Welcome to the Vixens.”

 

She turns and scurries off

 

“What the hell was that?” Veronica asks.

 

Betty doesn't answer, watching as Cheryl walks the entire length of the gym, and disappears into the locker room.

 

/\

 

They're on Betty's bed, hands gently cupping each others faces, taking a moment to breath between kisses. Veronica never knows how to explain to herself what she feels whenever they're together. It's like part of her just grows wings and flutters off into the ether, while the rest is left warm and sated.

 

“You look like you're a million miles away,” Betty comments, bringing her focus back to Earth.

 

“It's what you do to me,” she replies.

 

“Oh? What do I do, exactly?”

 

Veronica's thumb gently strokes her cheek.

 

“Put me under your spell.”

 

It must be the wrong thing to say, because something dark flashes in Betty's eyes, there and gone in an instant.

 

“Bad metaphor?” Veronica asks.

 

“No,” Betty answers with a shake of her head. “Sorry. It's nothing.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Betty leans forward for a quick kiss.

 

“Positive.”

 

They're quiet a moment.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Veronica inquires.

 

“Anything.”

 

“What's the deal with you and Cheryl?”

 

Betty is taken aback.

 

“Really? You want to talk about that now?”

 

“She was terrified of you,” Veronica presses. “Which I find completely bizarre, because you have got to be the sweetest, kindest girl I have ever met.”

 

Betty doesn't react to the compliment, lost in thought.

 

“She used to be the Queen Bee,” she answers cautiously. “Now she isn't.”

 

“Because of you?”

 

“No, because her brother died.”

 

“What does that have to do with-”

 

“I was there,” Betty confesses. “I saw it happen.”

 

“Oh my god,” Veronica gasps. “How did-”

 

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls both girls attention toward the door. Betty's body going rigid at the sight of the visitor, a girl about their age Veronica doesn't recognize.

 

“You're late,” the girl says calmly. “They sent me to fetch you.”

 

Betty swings her legs over the edge of the bed, rising quickly to her feet.

 

“I forgot.”

 

The girl rolls her eyes.

 

“Obviously.”

 

Veronica gets off the bed as well, moving to Betty's side, her attention immediately focusing on the cat perched obediently at the girl's feet. The way it looks at her, far too human for a feline to be capable of, sends shivers down her spine. The girl herself almost looks like Betty, wearing a plaid skirt paired with a pale blue sweater, and could easily pass for a middle sister between she and Polly. The only deviation in appearance a stylish bob of stark white hair held firmly in place by a black headband. The fashionista inside instantly thinks it a bad bleach job, but no Veronica realizes, it really grows from the girl's head that way.

 

“Veronica, my cousin Sabrina.” Betty introduces. “Sabrina, this is my girlfriend Veronica.”

 

“Charmed,” Sabrina replies, sticking out her hand.

 

The cat at her feet meows, as if they were rude in forgetting its presence.

 

“Oh, and this is Salem.”

 

Veronica wants to crouch down and pet the little guy, but that shiver strikes again, and she keeps her hands to herself.

 

“We need to leave,” Sabrina insists. “Now.”

 

Betty looks to Veronica.

 

“Ronnie I'm sorry, I have this family thing I completely spaced, I have to go.”

 

“Not a problem,” Veronica answers with a shrug.

 

The three make their way downstairs and through the front door, pausing again once they hit the sidewalk.

 

“I'll call you later,” Betty insists, leaning down for a parting kiss.

 

“Okay,” Veronica replies.

 

Sabrina politely waves a goodbye, and Salem meows one too, causing the hair on Veronica's arms to rise. She barely makes it ten feet when air shifts, clawing at her skin just as it had that first day in town, carrying Sabrina's voice with it.

 

“Lust isn't your sin,” it teases Betty, stopping Veronica dead in her tracks, spinning around quickly to watch their shadowy forms retreating down the street. Her mind immediately goes to the strange conversation she had with Cheryl Blossom. Pride is her sin. Lust isn't Betty's.

 

_What is yours?_

 

The voice is neither Betty's nor Sabrina's.

 

Veronica looks down to the see the cat still staring at her.

 

There is something seriously wrong with this town.

 


	2. that old black magic

It's the same dream.

 

A clearing in the woods, perched next to a bonfire, surrounded by a circle of blank faces and hollow eyes, chanting a loop of unknown words. She's seen it all before. Except this time, something is different. It's as if she can feel the heat of the flames. The dampness of night air, and Earth beneath bare feet. The chants hum inside her ears, as hips sway with the rhythm, though she doesn't understand the song.

 

Suddenly a presence felt behind her, though she doesn't dare turn to see. Hands on her shoulders as lips tease her ear. Words are not spoken but the message is clear.

 

_You are chosen._

 

_This is where you belong._

 

Tears shimmer in her eyes. Despite the circumstance, she has never felt such acceptance. The chanting booms into a crescendo, bonfire rising with the pitch, as every shadowy figure that surrounds raise their arms in unison to form a V.

 

It's then, she begins to comprehend the words, the message.

 

_You belong._

 

_You belong._

 

_YOU BELONG._

 

-

 

Veronica wakes with a gasp, hand clutching at the spot on her neck where pearls normally rest, as her heart beats rapidly within her chest.

 

Just the dream, she tells herself. The same horrible stupid dream that overtakes her mind on random nights she dares to sleep in this crazy town. But never before has it felt so actual and whole. Never in her life has one seemed so real.

 

If she hadn't woken up in her own bed, she'd swear it really happened. That she was really there.

 

Grasping for her phone, she sends Betty a text despite having no clue what time it is.

 

 _You awake?_ The simple message.

 

A response comes almost thirty seconds later.

 

_I am now :P What's up?_

 

Heart still fluttering, she suddenly feels so foolish. Having a bad dream and running to her girlfriend as if she were a frightened child.

 

_Nothing/ Bad dream/ Ignore me/ Go back to sleep_

 

Ten seconds before a response.

 

_Tell me_

 

She does without a second thought, over the course of several messages, every detail she can recall. How it felt as if she were actually out in those woods in the middle of the night. How, despite the Anton LaVey theatrics of it all, never once did she feel scared. Only on waking did the fear seem to grab her.

 

Betty doesn't judge her. Or make her feelings seem absurd. The more they converse, the calmer Veronica feels, and for that she is grateful.

 

_If you need help getting back to sleep I make an excellent security blanket_

 

The offer brings about the goofiest smile, and Veronica is glad they kept their correspondence in text rather than face time. She sends one last message of gratitude, and reassurance that she will be fine, and a few second later her phone buzzes again.

 

_Tomorrow, try to dream about me. ;) Night, V_

 

Another smile. It almost feels unreal that, in the complete collapse of her life before moving to Riverdale, there was something good out in the world just waiting for her. Sighing, she wonders just how she's supposed to be able to sleep again, before throwing back the covers thinking some sugary sweetness will no doubt calm her nerves.

 

She nearly screams at the dirt flung from between the sheets, as her legs swing over the edge of the bed, and filthy feet drop to the carpet.

 

/\

 

The click of Veronica's heels echo through the vacant hallway, as she makes way toward her locker to drop off the last of her books, having stayed after school to help Betty with some scut work for the next edition of the Blue and Gold. Yanked abruptly to the right, she's pulled hard by the arm into an empty classroom, where she's spun to face a tired sneer of crimson lips.

 

“Damn it, Cheryl!” she shouts. “You scared me half to death!”

 

“Hardly,” Cheryl is quick to rebuke. “An eighth to death, maybe. A quarter at most.”

 

Veronica is quick to pry herself from the girl's grasp, still rueful of her ludicrous fingernails, but stands waiting for the reveal of whatever this is about.

 

“What do you want?” She asks after a beat.

 

“To offer you a warning.”

 

“A warning about what?”

 

“It has begun.”

 

Veronica's brow arches at the statement.

 

“Could that possibly be any more vague?”

 

Cheryl rolls her eyes, and takes a step forward.

 

“Tell me Veronica, how have you been sleeping lately?”

 

That gets her attention, reaching up to clutch her pearls on instinct, wondering how the hell Cheryl Blossom could know about her dream. The only person she's confided in is Betty, and there's no fathomable scenario she can imagine, where the two of them had discussed it at any point.

 

“No constant dream of a strange ritual,” Cheryl carries on. “Of which you are the centerpiece? No overwhelming feeling that you're finally among your people?”

 

Veronica's blood runs cold, and all she wants to do is deny, turn and flee.

 

“How do you know that?” She asks in a hushed voice instead.

 

Cheryl takes a moment to look smug.

 

“Because,” she replies pointedly. “I was there.”

 

Veronica scowls in disbelief.

 

“So what, you're psychic or something?”

 

Cheryl laughs.

 

“You really haven't figured this out yet, have you?”

 

Still scowling.

 

“You're not dreaming. Every night they come for you. Pull you out from your comfy bed and perform the ritual of awakening. Your power is buried deep, Ronnie darling, but that won't ever stop them from trying to break it out from your bones.”

 

“You're lying.”

 

Cheryl takes another step forward, Veronica's eyes immediately shoot to her hands.

 

“I'm trying to help you,” she offers.

 

“Why would you?” Veronica asks. “If you're one of them.”

 

Cheryl blinks at the words, as if she's never thought of herself that way before.

 

“Some of us don't have a choice in the matter. Some of us are born into servitude. But you, if what they say is true, you could...”

 

Her cool facade fades into anguish, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

 

“He never wanted this either,” she says softly.

 

“He?” Veronica questions. “Your brother?”

 

“His name was Jason,” Cheryl fills in. “And he was a pure soul. Useless in a place like this. Where people prefer the dark and abhor the light.”

 

The empathy wells inside Veronica, wanting to reach out and wipe those tears away, but some inner voice warns against it.

 

“Betty told me he died,” she offers instead.

 

“Oh,” Cheryl scoffs. “Is that what she said? Bet she kept the details to herself, though. Can't have the girl she's trying to worm a way inside her heart and pants thinking she's some kind of monster.”

 

Veronica does not like the sound of that at all.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Do you have any idea what she is?” Cheryl asks callously. “What she's done?”

 

“What is she?”

 

Cheryl smirks.

 

“I can't answer that.”

 

“Then, what is she to you?”

 

“A hammer.”

 

Veronica doesn't understand.

 

“And anyone who defies them, become nails.”

 

“Is that why you're afraid of her?”

 

It's the wrong thing to say, because suddenly Cheryl snarls and lunges toward her, those deadly nails slashing at her dress and arms.

 

“No you stupid cow,” she hisses. “I'm afraid of your precious Betty because I was forced to watch as she ripped the heart from my brother's chest and squashed it in the palm of her hand. All because he had the audacity to want a life outside this cesspool of a town.”

 

Veronica manages to catch one of Cheryl's wrists, and that's all it takes to drain the fight from her, once again collapsing into tears. Despite the lashing out and that inner voice, Veronica takes the high road, enveloping the sobbing girl into her arms.

 

“My parents did _nothing_ ,” she confesses. “They were _ashamed_. Twin children taking up Pride and Sloth, while they basked in Greed. Nothing but the finer things in life for us Blossoms. Money, money, money. It was those clever Coopers who played us all with their Lust. For life. For power. Birthing two blonde bimbos capable of anything they saw fit.”

 

Veronica smooths at Cheryl's luxurious hair, from top to bottom and back again, still ignoring every instinct to cut and run from this madness.

 

“You are really freaking me out,” she says instead.

 

“Good,” Cheryl replies bluntly. “It means you've been listening.”

 

“I don't know if I can believe you.”

 

Cheryl pulls back from Veronica's arms, deftly wiping the tears from her face without any damage from her nails, and gives a knowing grin.

 

“Part of you already does.”

 

Veronica doesn't think she can take much more of this.

 

“I have to go,” she says, backing away.

 

“One more thing,” Cheryl calls after her.

 

“What?”

 

“Tell me I'm pretty?”

 

/\

 

When she wakes from the dream again, it's not in the confines of her room. A pale pink predawn sky is the first thing she sees, eyes slowly peering open, and feels a cold damp ground beneath her back that causes her to sit up so fast it makes her head spin.

 

Betty is right there, one hand on her chest, the other at her back rubbing in slow circles. Veronica clings to her instantly, head drooping between the girl's neck and shoulder, as she draws one shaky breath after another.

 

“Am I still dreaming?”

 

Betty doesn't reply, still making circles against her.

 

“What's happening to me?”

 

“Come on,” Betty offers in lieu of an answer. “I'll take you home.”

 

-

 

Veronica enters the apartment with hardly a sound, but her mother is already awake, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in hand. She doesn't even blink at the sight of her only child wandering in at the crack of dawn, wearing only a nightgown, while her hands legs and feet are covered in dirt.

 

“Your lack of motherly concern is starting to worry me,” Veronica states flatly, moving toward her.

 

Her mother still offers no reaction.

 

“Unless,” Veronica carries on. “You knew exactly where I was. What they were doing to me.”

 

Guilty eyes shimmer over the rim of the mug, which seems to be a rather elongated drink, to avoid any explanation for her behavior or lack thereof. Veronica looks down to her toes, nearly black against the pristine tile of the floor.

 

“Why did we come here?” She asks softly. “Daddy was a Wall Street wizard. He could have easily hidden half a dozen properties under fake names and shell corporations the SEC never would have found. So don't give me that line about this building being the only one not in his name. We came to this town, just a few hours away from New York, there must be a reason.”

 

The mug is pulled from her mother's face when Veronica peers up, but she's looking away.

 

“Mom?”

 

“Your father broke the rules,” she says, finally.

 

“I know that,” Veronica replies. “He's sitting in a jail cell because of it.”

 

“No Ronnie,” her mother intones. “Not those rules.”

 

Something stirs inside of Veronica. As if she somehow knows what rules her mother speaks of without really knowing at all.

 

“He, his kind, they're not allowed to consort with... Mortals. That's what they call us. But when we met, he suddenly didn't care anymore.”

 

If it weren't for the startlingly serious tone in her mother's voice, Veronica would write off the statement as another detractor to keep her from learning the truth. Star crossed lovers her parents were not. Even at young age, no matter how affectionate each of them were with her, she never saw a moment of such a spark between them. She actually wondered what made them stay together. Rich people get divorced all the time, it's not as if the act carried such a social faux pas it once did.

 

“Our love, our marriage, you. It was all forbidden.”

 

“Mom?”

 

“But your father,” she carries on through Veronica's inquiry. “Always was a charming man. He could talk the habit off a nun, and knowing him, probably has. Though it was unorthodox, he managed to talk them into making an exception, a kind of crossroads deal. He got to live the life he wanted, with me and you, but when the time came he had to pay up. Give it, us, up.”

 

“So everything we had? Our entire life in New York?”

 

“All part of the deal. When it ended, so did that.”

 

A cold pit forms in Veronica's stomach.

 

“Still doesn't explain why we came here.”

 

Her mother takes another long drink.

 

“That was a stipulation. His people are here, so we, or rather you need to be here.”

 

“Am I part of the deal?”

 

Her mother doesn't answer.

 

“Am I part of the deal?” She repeats, the fear and anger causing her voice to break.

 

“You're his daughter,” comes the answer.

 

Tears well in Veronica's eyes but she does not let them fall.

 

“What am I really?”

 

Remorse flashes across her mother's face. Honest and true. If she had any power at all to change the circumstances they find themselves in, Veronica knows in that moment she would. But it's gone just as quickly as it showed, her eyes going blank again, the empty stare of a woman doomed to be helpless of forces more powerful than she.

 

“A vessel.”

 

The pit suddenly swirls so that she might be sick.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You're his flesh,” her mother answers. “His blood. But that's not enough for their kind. You need to be more.”

 

“How much more?”

 

“A piece of his soul is bound by seven seals inside of you. When they're all broken, you will have all his knowledge, his ability, his power.”

 

Veronica can no longer fight the tears that fall.

 

“Will I still be me?”

 

Her mother sets the cup on the counter.

 

“I don't know.”

 

She quickly wipes at her face with the back of her hand.

 

“Daddy's not in prison,” She begins after a sniff. “Is he?”

 

“No mija,” her mother answers. “He's in hell.”

 

/\

 

Cheryl hasn't been in school for three days.

 

Not since she pulled Veronica into that classroom, trying to offer a veiled warning through layers of grief and crazy. If this were any other place in the country, she would think nothing of it. That the girl is simply out sick. But something in the air carries a knowledge, Veronica discovering that if she tilts her ear just so, it can be collected easily. She isn't sick. She isn't even in Riverdale.

 

“You've been avoiding me,” Betty voices calls from behind.

 

An accusation hard to deny, considering she's eating her lunch hidden away underneath the bleachers. Honestly she doesn't know what to say, with the constant confusion of everything that's happening, and Cheryl's allegation that Betty somehow killed her brother prevalent every time Veronica looks at her.

 

“I have,” she replies honestly. “I'm sorry.”

 

Betty accepts the answer with a nod.

 

“Is it because of the other day?” She asks. “Because I can explain.”

 

A single brow arches on Veronica's forehead.

 

“Explain how you just happened to find me as I woke up in the middle of the forest?” Veronica challenges. “Please do.”

 

“Well,” Betty begins. “It's because, uh...”

 

“It's you isn't it?” Veronica asks. “You're the one who whispers in my ear.”

 

Betty's eyes go wide.

 

“Yes,” she admits.

 

“You didn't really find me then, did you? You just never left with the rest of them.”

 

Betty shakes her head.

 

“Why?”

 

“I couldn't leave you there.”

 

“Why?” Veronica asks again. “Because you care? Care enough to let whatever your people are doing to me, keep doing it?”

 

“It's foretold,” Betty offers. “You are chosen.”

 

“Chosen for what?” Veronica shouts, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “To do what?”

 

Betty suddenly looks sheepish.

 

“I don't know.”

 

“How convenient.”

 

Betty takes a step toward her, but Veronica recoils.

 

“I don't think you understand.”

 

“Talk about an understatement.”

 

Betty sighs loudly.

 

“You are Hiram Lodge's sole heir. I promise you, the gravity of what that means will be learned once the seventh seal is broken.”

 

“Ah yes,” Veronica shoots back. “My inheritance. What do I have to do? Sacrifice a goat? Drown a baby in a bucket?”

 

Betty takes another step, but this time Veronica holds her ground.

 

“You're upset.”

 

“Of course, I'm upset! You knew exactly who I was that night in the diner, didn't you?”

 

Betty nods, ponytail bobbing behind her.

 

“So what was the plan then?” Veronica seethes. “Befriend me to get my guard down? Make me fall for you so I'd be more compliant?”

 

“No!” Betty is quick to rebuff. “That's not, I mean, you and I... We weren't supposed to happen.”

 

“Was it not foretold?” Veronica mocks.

 

“I wasn't supposed to care about you as much as I did,” she offers. “As much as I do.”

 

Veronica folds her arms.

 

“So our entire relationship was just a happy accident of your crazy towns death cult?”

 

Betty laughs with no humor.

 

“Your cult, too.” she replies. “You were born into this. Just like me. Just like Cheryl.”

 

“Where is Cheryl?”

 

Betty balks at the question.

 

“Did you hurt her?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you going to?”

 

“No,” she reiterates. “But she is being punished.”

 

Veronica's mouth drops open just a little.

 

“For what?”

 

“For speaking out of turn.”

 

This time it's Veronica who balks. Their classroom conversation. How could anyone know?

 

“I know why she's afraid of you.”

 

Betty's hands ball into fists.

 

“What did she tell you?”

 

“Did you kill her brother?”

 

She doesn't answer, which is just as good as.

 

“What's your sin, Betty?”

 

“What?”

 

“Everyone has one, don't they?”

 

Betty's fists are clenched so tight, her knuckles go white, a few drops of blood squeezed from a stone.

 

“Sounds like you already know,” she offers cautiously.

 

“I want to hear you say it.”

 

Betty steps forward, offering up bloody palms to Veronica, who does not back away despite her trembling legs. She gasps when the blonde cups her face with sticky hands, and kisses her so hard teeth gnash through their lips.

 

Eyes go dark as her voice drops.

 

“ _Wrath.”_

 


	3. the witching hour

A knock on the door brings an unexpected visitor, cousin Sabrina standing in the hallway, with her cat in tow no less. Though unsure what brings her by, Veronica steps to the side in a wordless invitation, both the girl and pet accepting with a cross of the threshold.

 

“Are you here because of Betty?” Veronica asks bluntly.

 

“Good afternoon Veronica,” Sabrina replies with her back to the brunette, scoping out the apartment. “It's nice to see you again.”

 

Color flushes into her cheeks at the complete lack of manners, immediately offering up a beverage or snack.

 

“Milk if you have some.”

 

Veronica blinks. Sabrina didn't say that. She looks down to the cat who returns her stare.

 

“I'll take some milk,” it reiterates. “Or cream. Cream is good.”

 

She looks helplessly to Sabrina.

 

“Okay, what?”

 

“You've already fallen down the rabbit hole,” Sabrina offers in reply. “No sense in pretending anymore.”

 

“Uh...”

 

Sabrina shakes her head with a laugh.

 

“All the things you've seen the past few weeks, and a talking cat is where you draw the line?”

 

“A cat with a name,” it replies. “Salem. Which you know from a previous introduction. So, how about that cream?”

 

Veronica moves toward the fridge in a daze, pulling out a carton to offer up.

 

“Half and half, okay?”

 

“Perfect,” Salem replies, emphasizing the R.

 

“And he makes puns,” Veronica says more to herself than her guests. “So what brings you by?”

 

Sabrina takes a seat on the couch, hand outstretched to the spot next to her, which Veronica tilts her head at but follows to sit.

 

“The coven likes to keep an eye on you,” she answers truthfully. “And since you've been laying low and pretty much ignoring Betty for the past week, they sent me.”

 

Veronica scoffs.

 

“So on top of everything else, she was what? My handler?”

 

“More like peer gauge,” Sabrina corrects. “Not even a blink on coven, though?”

 

Veronica shrugs.

 

“Had the witch thing figured out,” she replies. “Coven is just the collective word. What's the point in saying something that everyone knows?”

 

Sabrina smirks.

 

“So how are you doing with all of this?” She asks. “Really. No plans to hightail it out of this backwater burg? To betray your father? Betray us all?”

 

Honestly no, Veronica thinks. Despite what she may feel is the normal response to this whole situation, packing up and running as far away as her feet could take her, she never once felt the urge to do so.

 

“Would it do me any good?”

 

Sabrina shakes her head. “Not unless you want to end up like Jason.”

 

Veronica's pulse spikes at his name.

 

“Why did Betty kill him?”

 

“Okay,” Sabrina begins, straightening up with her palms facing Veronica. “First thing, Betty didn't kill Jason Blossom, the coven did.”

 

Veronica's brow furrows.

 

“But Cheryl said she ripped his heart right out of his chest.”

 

“And that poor girl is right,” Sabrina concedes. “But let me ask you this. If a person gets stabbed do you blame the knife or the assailant?”

 

“You're saying Betty is-”

 

“The coven's knife.”

 

Veronica looks into her lap.

 

“Why would a coven of all powerful witches choose a sixteen year old girl to be their weapon?” She asks softly.

 

“Because of her sin.”

 

Veronica's head snaps up quickly to meet Sabrina's knowing eyes.

 

“Yeah, you'd think a town teeming with witches would have their pick of the litter with that one,” she offers. “But no, Betty is it.”

 

“How-”

 

“She's diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, and prone to violent outbursts. She was in a pediatric facility for two years before her mother came to my Aunts. They fixed her up good, but all magic has a price. The spell inside her head that keeps the voices and visions away comes with a cost of blood.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Sabrina chuckles humorlessly.

 

“Eventually you'll stop using that expression. Second thing. Jason was a pure soul. He never quite belonged to this life. Which is unfortunate, but he didn't just want out. He wanted to expose us all. Destroy the coven on a whole. He wanted to burn this whole town down.”

 

Veronica is shocked.

 

“Cheryl never said-”

 

“Well, she wouldn't.” Sabrina cuts her off. “That girl worshiped the ground her brother walked on, even if it was leading her to stray with him.”

 

For a moment they simply look at each other.

 

“We have a lot more in common than you might think,” Sabrina proposes once the moment passes.

 

“How's that?”

 

“Both our fathers, rule breakers. Falling in love with mortal women. Forbearing a lone daughter to be their vessel. Both of their souls burning in hell because of it. It's like two different authors wrote the same book.”

 

It makes Veronica grin, just knowing that someone else had gone through what she is, and brings about the smallest bit of relief.

 

“So when that final seal is broken,” she starts. “I can still be me?”

 

“Basically,” Sabrina assures. “You'll just be a full blown witch without having to apprentice for it. It's actually kind of a sweet deal. Learning the craft the old fashioned way is a painstaking process, or so my Aunts love to remind me.”

 

Veronica laughs for the first time in days.

 

“I think you and I are going to be friends,” she proposes.

 

“Yeah,” Sabrina agrees. “I think so, too.”

 

“And me?” Salem calls from the kitchen.

 

Veronica looks over to the cat, just finishing up the saucer she gave him, momentarily wondering how exactly this is her life.

 

“Sorry,” she tells him. “I'm actually more of a dog person.”

 

Sabrina giggles at the joke, and Salem just hisses in rebuke.

 

“Listen,” She begins earnestly. “About Betty. I'm not going to tell you to ignore whatever doubt knowing what she is has placed in your heart. But I will say this. Just being around you has made her the happiest I've seen since she sent Archie and Jughead away. And that blissful honeymoon period when you first started dating? The girl would not shut up about how wonderful you are. So, you know, do with that what you will.”

 

Not knowing how to respond, Veronica only nods.

 

“Well,” Sabrina continues, rising from her seat. “I think that concludes our business for the day.”

 

Veronica stands as well.

 

“Did I pass inspection?”

 

Sabrina rolls her eyes, but smiles.

 

“I'll let them know you're up to snuff,” she assures. “Come on Salem.”

 

Veronica escorts them to the door, the cat turning back only to hiss playfully at her once more, followed by Sabrina offering one last bit of assurance.

 

“It's really not much different from a normal life,” she says in parting, suddenly floating inches above the ground. “And the perks of power are really something else.”

 

/\

 

“Do I have to do anything?” Veronica asks, eyes pointed toward the ceiling.

 

“No,” Betty answers, chin resting on the girl's shoulder. “You just... Go to sleep.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She had expected the final seal breaking to be a bit more involved. Some sort of crazy ceremony, which there will no doubt be, but one she could actually be conscious for. Her hand rests atop Betty's, whose arm is slung across her hip, granted special permission by the coven to be present before she enters the dream state.

 

So many rules, Veronica muses. It feels like you need a law degree to understand them all, especially considering the harsh punishments if you dare break one. Betty tilts her head to press a small kiss against Veronica's cheek, bringing about an instant smile.

 

“How am I supposed to fall asleep if you keep distracting me?” she teases.

 

“Sorry,” Betty is quick to atone. “I'm just-I missed being in your bed.”

 

Her lips press against Veronica's shoulder.

 

“I'm really glad you, that we...”

 

Veronica turns her head to meet Betty's eyes.

 

“You're the only good thing this town gave me.” she offers. “Why deny myself that happiness, from a petty sense of judgment, of a life that was never really mine?”

 

Betty snorts against her.

 

“What? I'm trying to be eloquent.”

 

“Oh, you totally were.”

 

She laughs silently against her, Veronica turns back toward the ceiling.

 

“See if I ever try to be poetic with you again.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Betty offers through a giggle.

 

Veronica sighs.

 

“What do you think my sin will be?”

 

Betty contemplates a moment.

 

“I'm not sure,” she replies. “None of them really apply to you.”

 

“Do you think that means something?”

 

“Maybe,” Betty concedes. “Maybe not.”

 

“Have you ever known someone without one?”

 

“No,” she admits. “But it's not unheard of. I mean, Sabrina has yet to find hers, but our Aunts say it's just a matter of time."

 

Veronica yawns, and Betty presses another kiss against her shoulder.

 

“Not long now.”

 

“Will it hurt?”

 

“I don't know,” she replies honestly. “Sabrina would be the one to ask.”

 

“Should I call her then?”

 

“Ha, ha. She's getting ready for the ritual. They all are. My mom was an absolute terror today, saying we need to be ready for this and that, and then next twenty things down the line.”

 

Veronica yawns again, and Betty gives a little squeeze.

 

“Sleep, Ronnie.” She says softly. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Cross my heart,” Betty assures. “Hope to-”

 

Veronica is gone before the sentence if finished.

 

/\

 

She dreams.

 

But is surprised to find herself in a city, instead of the familiar open field in the trees, surrounded by the coven. In a cobblestone alley, watching through the rain as a small woman holds a crying infant in her arms. Somehow she knows the year is 1698. The woman's name is Mercy Lewis, and the baby in her arms is the illegitimate son she intends to give up.

 

“Daddy.”

 

No one hears her speak. No one notices her at all.

 

She can only watch as Mercy hands the baby over to a sister of the holy names.

 

A woman who intends to free the child of wickedness by any means necessary.

 

She blinks and the landscape changes. The air feels so thick it's like water. Temperature nearly unbearable even though the moon shines instead of the sun. A town with no name on an island oasis in the bayou. A man younger than he looks, dances with a beautiful woman whose name dare not be spoken. The year is 1731, and though their religions share many similarities, their union in expressly forbidden.

 

Neither party cares very much for such rules barring their love, and marry in a ceremony of their own making. A child is quickly conceived, but complications during delivery prevent both mother and child from surviving. The despondent father to be expresses his grief in fire, and the whole town burns to the ground.

 

She takes a breath and suddenly cannonballs are flying overhead. Musket balls stream through the air, taking many a man's life with them, all save for one they simply seem to phase through. The man in question has no intention of dying nameless on a field in Pennsylvania, turning the odds towards his blue jacketed brothers in arms. The year is 1863, and this is the bloodiest battle the warring countries will ever see.

 

Thoughts are focused only on his bride back in Williamsport, and when he makes it through the battle, she can be in his arms once more. He has no idea that within a few days time she will be dead along with their unborn child. Such a dire consequence for breaking the rules he readily ignores.

 

The popping of a cork startles her as champagne flows at an arc into eagerly anticipating glasses. People laughing merrily and dancing without inhibition as the jazz rages on around them. Silver shoes and bobbed haircuts abound, accompanied by men in pinstripe suits and fedora adorned heads. A man younger than he looks surveys the raucous club from a perch just above the stage. His pockets flush with cash, more than any person could ever spend.

 

The pretty girl on his arm is not his wife, but does carry his child, only hours away from a bullet ridden end in the alley behind the building. The year is 1927 and the man has yet to ever learn his lesson.

 

A scent of delicious fried food hits her nose, as the scene dissolves into the familiar surroundings of Pop Tate's Chok'lit Shoppe, a down and out warlock crawling back to his people settled here and spending his last ten bucks on a bacon cheeseburger. The waitress who sets his plate down on the table has an unforgettable smile, and it stirs something within him he thought long dead.

 

He charms her with ridiculous lies of fortune and wealth, knowing it is still within him to acquire these things. Her name is Hermione Villanueva, and he promises her the world. Delivers it within one year, as she does with their daughter. Born without incident, all ten fingers and toes intact, just past the dawn of a new millennium in the year 2001. The old rules still apply but this time he is ready. A deal is stuck. The life he wants for the amount of time he sees fit. Fifteen years a nice odd number. In exchange for all his accumulated power save for the sliver passed onto his vessel.

 

He turns to her then, as if he can see her there, and it takes a moment to realize he actually can.

 

“My precious Veronica,” he says warmly. “All that I am, all that I can give, is yours.”

 

Her eyes open to the light of the bonfire. The music of the chant. Her arms outstretched as the seventh seal is finally broken. Electricity crackles beneath her skin, as the power promised is unleashed. Everyone in the coven welcomes her with open arms. The McCoy's, Browns, Valentine's, and Muggs'. Clayton's, Klump's, Doiley's, and Mantle's. Even the Blossom's offer acceptance, and finally her attention shifts to the Cooper's. Alice, Hal, and Polly all smile warmly, but it's Betty who rushes to embrace her.

 

She was right all along, with those whispers in her ear.

 

This is where Veronica belongs.

 


	4. madam satan's cheerleaders

A tapping on the window pulls Veronica's attention from her schoolwork, glancing toward it even though the drapes are closed, blaming a confused bird for the distraction. Two seconds later it taps again, and Veronica groans, adjusting the glasses that slipped down her noise before rising from the bed. A third round of tapping, jeez is this bird persistent, and she's about ready to give it a piece of her mind after yanking back the curtain.

 

She yelps helplessly when Sabrina shouts _surprise!_ from the other side of the glass.

 

Though the Pembrooke isn't a tall building by New York standards, her bedroom is still a few stories off the ground, and even if she knows her friend is capable of levitating her mind still scrambles for an explanation of what she's doing up this high.

 

“Are you going to open up?” Sabrina asks, tapping on the glass once more.

 

Veronica quickly slides the lock out of place, pulling back the window, and brings her hands to her mouth in joyous disbelief.

 

“No way,” she says in awe. “This is really a thing?”

 

Sabrina smiles and nods, arm arcing in a showgirl gesture, the length of the broomstick she lithely balances on.

 

“Told you there were perks of power,” she says smugly. “Get in loser, we're going shopping.”

 

“Are you crazy?” Veronica rebuffs. “I don't know how to fly.”

 

“Yeah,” Sabrina assures, tossing her a broomstick of her own. “You do.”

 

Veronica examines the cleaning tool, though it would hardly be used for that purpose, more resembling the old-timey kind you only see during Halloween.

 

“Isn't there a better way to start?” She asks, head peeking past the windowsill, all the way down to the hard concrete below. “Say, from the ground maybe?”

 

“Come on, Ronnie.” Sabrina chides playfully. “If you believe you can, you will.”

 

“Uh...”

 

“Trust me,” she offers with an outstretched hand.

 

Veronica reaches to take it, her other hand gripping the broomstick so tight she just may splinter the wood, as she places a foot on the edge of the windowsill.

 

“You got this,” Sabrina encourages.

 

She can't help but look down one more time, guiding the broom betwixt her legs, and takes a deep breath before the leap of faith.

 

“Whoa,” she mumbles, fighting to keep upright on such a narrow balance point, but finds herself able to float in the air as easily as her companion.

 

“Told you,” Sabrina offers smugly.

 

“Okay, this is seriously freaky,” Veronica replies with a nervous laugh, keeping a death grip on her broom. “Where's Betty? And Salem? Did they not want to see my maiden voyage?”

 

“About that,” Sabrina begins. “Remember when I said our being vessels is like a golden ticket to witchhood?”

 

“Not in those particular words, no.”

 

“Anyway,” she carries on. “Salem, the big scaredy cat, is afraid of heights. And Betty hasn't hit this level yet. So, rather than subject my dear cousin to some serious broom envy, I decided to let her sit this one out.”

 

Veronica nods. Makes sense in a way. Though now she has a picture in her mind of she and Betty riding her broom along a moonlit Sweetwater River, and makes a mental note to have that come true one day.

 

“Are we really going shopping?” she asks.

 

“What?” Sabrina replies, shooting her a look. “No. Have you never seen that movie?”

 

“Then what are we doing?”

 

“We're going to streak through the night sky and howl at the moon.”

 

“Really?”

 

Sabrina sighs audibly. Her humor is just not hitting the mark tonight.

 

“Just follow me,” she says, guiding her broomstick upward. “And try to keep up.”

 

/\

 

“Cheryl!” Veronica calls out as the girl passes by her locker. “You're back.”

 

She reaches out, which Cheryl quickly recoils from, slipping easily back on the smooth linoleum.

 

“Whoa,” Veronica says after a gasp.

 

Cheryl looks her up and down.

 

“Hello Veronica,” she offers flatly. “I hear congratulations are in order. You're one of us, now.”

 

There's a ping of satisfaction inside Veronica's chest, the power that flows within her, the sense of acceptance among her peers. She relays her thanks, despite Cheryl's tone and body language, the girl seems to be sincere with her words.

 

Cheryl only nods in reply, her eyes lost and distant, and it's so obvious the girl is not okay Veronica doesn't bother with the platitude of such a redundant question. Instead she moves closer, careful that the girl doesn't shy away again, before enveloping her in a hug.

 

“What are you doing?” Cheryl asks, stiff as a board in her arms.

 

“Thanking you,” Veronica explains. “You were punished for trying to help me.”

 

“Guess you didn't need it.”

 

“No,” she admits. “But still, you put yourself at risk for me. I can't imagine what they put you through because of that.”

 

Cheryl's breath catches, as she slowly melts into the embrace, wrists crossing at the small of Veronica's back.

 

“Do you know what you signed up for?” She asks. “Because this isn't just magic. It's witchcraft. There will be pain, suffering, and so much blood you just might drown in it.”

 

Deep down Veronica knows this. That what she can do will not come free of charge. But with the seals broken inside of her, and knowing that her father was never afraid to pay, she has no illusions what this life may bring.

 

“Where did you go?” She asks. “Where did they send you?”

 

“Into nothing,” Cheryl answers. “Nowhere. A solid week inside the void.”

 

“That sounds like-”

 

“Purgatory? Doesn't it just?”

 

“I'm sorry, Cheryl.”

 

“First thing they asked, after pulling me out, did I learn my lesson?”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I lied of course,” she replies. “Said yes like a good little girl.”

 

Veronica gives what she hopes is felt as a reassuring squeeze, which just seems to make her laugh.

 

“Are you sure you want to keep fawning over me like this?” She asks. “Wouldn't want your crazy girlfriend to rip my head off in a jealous rage.”

 

“Don't worry about Betty.”

 

“Oh,” Cheryl scoffs. “But I do.”

 

Veronica pulls back slightly to look her in the eye.

 

“We've already talked, she knows I'm going to be your friend.”

 

“I don't need your pity,” she's quick to detract.

 

“You don't have it,” Veronica defends.

 

“Why would you ever want to be my friend?”

 

Veronica's hand lifts to Cheryl's cheek.

 

“Because you're pretty,” she says in all seriousness. “So very, very pretty.”

 

For a fleeting moment Cheryl's eyes shine with genuine emotion, her sin begging to be appeased, but gone in a blink when she does.

 

“Oh, you clever thing. Been a witch for what, a week? Already so tricky.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

Cheryl's lip trembles, as if she honestly doesn't know what to do with any kind of sincerity.

 

“You can kiss me if you want,” she offers. “My lipstick is maple red. I promise it will be sweet.”

 

Veronica steps back to slip out of Cheryl's arms, but reaches down to grab her wrists, pulling them up to place a kiss on the back of each one of her hands instead.

 

“Your nails,” she comments, noticing the trademark talons are worn down to the fingertips.

 

“Broke them off trying to claw my out,” Cheryl fills in. “They'll grow back.”

 

“Keep talking like that and I'm going to hug you again.”

 

Cheryl laughs softly.

 

“That's what friends do, isn't it?”

 

/\

 

The streets are empty, save for she and Betty, walking hand in hand along the sidewalk. A successful evening of the classic dating trope that is dinner and a movie, has her smiling serenely, as they stroll idly in content silence. Veronica didn't realize how much she needed tonight, some sort of veiled teenage normalcy. Burgers, fries, and milkshake, followed by some cheesy romantic comedy and making out in a dark movie theater with her girlfriend.

 

Veronica stops them underneath a streetlamp, a perfect circle of light illuminated against the clash of night, and Betty's brow furrows in confusion at the sudden halt in progress.

 

“Watch,” Veronica teases, as she reaches out with her mind, turning out the rest of the lights lining the street one by one.

 

Betty's drops open. “You've been practicing,” she comments, impressed.

 

Veronica nods, before standing on her tip toes for a kiss.

 

“What's it like?” Betty questions. “Having all that power at your beck and call.”

 

Sabrina's words echo in her mind, about leaving Betty out of certain things because she has yet to reach their level, and suddenly regrets showing off. She has to do things the hard way. Books, spells, and hexes. She has to learn, step by step, the magic that simply flows through Veronica's veins. Something she's been doing half her life, and still is nowhere close to what Veronica can achieve with a simple thought.

 

“Sorry,” she's quick to apologize. “I don't mean to flaunt all this in front of you.”

 

Betty clucks her tongue.

 

“Am I really so fragile?”

 

Veronica laughs.

 

“I think you're the strongest person I know.”

 

“Just not my ego?”

 

Veronica steps up to kiss her again. “Why do I ever bother to speak?”

 

Betty grins. “To show you're brains as well as beauty?”

 

“A compliment?” Veronica teases. “My, my. What did I ever do to deserve such flattery?”

 

Betty looks around them.

 

“Creating a scene out of some black and white movie for starters,” she offers. “Being the most enchanting, scintillating, and charming person I have ever met.”

 

Veronica ducks her head, blushing furiously.

 

“For accepting me,” she finishes in a softer voice. “Knowing what I am. What I'm capable of.”

 

Betty reaches down to tilt Veronica's chin up toward her.

 

“I love you for that.”

 

Veronica's heart swells with the word.

 

“Just that?”

 

Betty kisses her again.

 

“For everything.”

 

Neither girl is sure who initiates their cinematic spin under the light, but both laugh with the absurdity of it, their happiness radiating into the black like a beacon. One that brings a call back, moments later, the hairs on their necks suddenly standing on end.

 

“You feel that?” Betty asks, and Veronica nods, the two of them staring into the night trying to see what it could be.

 

Veronica is quick to put the lights on again, whatever presence hiding in the dark skittering back with the shadows, and both of them know better than to try and find out what it could be. Betty moves first, tugging on Veronica's hand, who has a bit of difficulty moving faster than a trot in her heels. The thing follows slithering just above them, and seems to jump from lamp to lamp, causing sparks to shower down from each.

 

They run until the Pembrooke is just a block away, the thing slashing at them the closer they get, until Veronica suddenly stops and throws her free hand toward it. An incantation she's never read erupts past her lips, her voice booming with the power it brings, the wind rising from her to push the monster far off into the sky.

 

Betty doesn't wait to make sure it's gone, pulling on Veronica's hand again, and not stopping until they enter the lobby. They catch their breath a moment, looking cautiously out the door, then make a beeline for the elevator. Veronica mutters a language she's never heard under her breath, witch laden survival instincts working overtime with protection spells on the building.

 

“What was that thing?” Betty asks once Veronica quiets down.

 

“I don't know,” Veronica replies.

 

Their eyes meet, before both start checking each other for wounds in an odd sort of sync, each stopping on the ding of the elevator arriving at their floor. Betty peers cautiously from the door, looking both ways before waving at Veronica the coast is clear.

 

“I think we're okay,” she offers. “I don't feel it anymore.”

 

“Neither do I,” Veronica agrees, but they still proceed with caution toward her door.

 

She's ready to shout a warning to her mother when they enter, but one step inside and she knows the apartment is empty, of not just her presence but essence. She isn't here, but it now feels as if she's never been.

 

“Veronica,” Betty calls, having wandered into the kitchen, holding up an envelope with her name written in her mother's handwriting.

 

“Oh no,” she whispers.

 

Just when things were finally going her way.

 


	5. how awful goodness is

Veronica stands in the foyer of the Spellman house, suitcase in hand, while Sabrina's aunts welcome her with open arms. Taking in strays is nothing new to them, having raised the teenage witch practically from infancy, so when informed of Hermione Lodge's rather abrupt departure from Riverdale they were more than willing to offer their home to her.

 

“We're so happy to have you,” Zelda offers warmly. “Can't have too many witches under one roof, I've always said.”

 

“When have you ever said that?” Hilda questions.

 

“Plenty of times. It's a perfectly reasonable statement.”

 

Veronica's eyes dart between the two of them, the words from their mouths perfectly understandable, but it feels as if she's picking up on some kind of unspoken communication as well.

 

“Yes, but to claim you've always said such a thing is completely-”

 

Hilda looks to Veronica's confused face, cutting herself off, and gives an awkward smile.

 

“Veronica dear,” she begins. “What's ours is yours, so don't be afraid to make yourself at home, because we would love if that's how you thought of it now.”

 

“Thank you,” Veronica replies.

 

Sabrina appears at the top of the stairs then, a knowing grin on her face that Veronica was just subjected to her first little bickering match from the sisters, and gestures with a wave of her arm that she follow upstairs.

 

“Come on roomie,” she says. “Let's get you settled in.”

 

Veronica glances quickly from sister to sister, both still giving placid smiles, but suddenly a vision of two undead corpses with matching grins flash before her. It's gone when she blinks, the sisters themselves once again, but her heart skips a beat just the same.

 

-

 

“They take some getting used to,” Sabrina informs when they enter the room that will be Veronica's. “But it's generally amusing. I mean, most of the time.”

 

Veronica only nods glancing around at the flower covered wallpaper, accented by a half dozen landscape paintings, and the ornately carved bed frame that is by best guess a few hundred years old. Suitcase still in hand, she's almost afraid to put it down, as if the act of it will hammer down the fact that this isn't a temporary situation.

 

Sabrina reaches down to take it from her, eyebrow lifting at the moments hesitation, before Veronica finally let go. She walks over to the bed, tossing the suitcase onto the mattress, then moves to open the window.

 

“How are you feeling about all this?” she asks, a small breeze filling the space with fresh air.

 

Veronica still hasn't moved.

 

“Numb,” she replies honestly. “Like, any minute I'm going to wake up in my room back in New York, and the last few months will just be some crazy dream.”

 

Sabrina only nods.

 

“I never had a mother,” she shares. “I mean, obviously I had one, but I didn't know her. Never really had a dad, either. He was in and out of my life until I was six, then one birthday he just never showed, and I haven't seen or heard from him since.”

 

The first thought that enters Veronica's mind is that he's in hell with hers, an immediate go to excuse for every deadbeat dad in the witching world, and a sudden glimmer of intuition informs her that she's correct.

 

“Well, aren't we just a couple of little orphan Annie's?”

 

It's a pathetic excuse for a joke, but Sabrina laughs anyway, moving toward Veronica and pulling the girl into a hug.

 

“So,” she begins. “There are some ground rules for living in the Spellman house my aunts have yet to tell you.”

 

Veronica's cheek dips to her friends shoulder.

 

“Lay them on me.”

 

“One, no magic in the house. That's what the woods are for. You want to practice, you do it outside. They are very staunch about this.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Two, they are old school. And by that I'm talking about stuck in seventeenth century etiquette when it comes to dating.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“No Betty in your room with the door closed, or maybe not at all. No making out, or in the pants shenanigans of any kind, under their roof. They will turn you into a rabbit, I'm not even kidding.”

 

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Veronica states, finally breaking the hug.

 

Sabrina sighs.

 

“Had a boyfriend once. Total dream boat named Harvey. Snuck him into my room when they were out running errands and lost track of the time. Not fun. To this day I still crave alfalfa every once in awhile.”

 

“Can I call you cottontail?”

 

“Not if you know what's good for you.”

 

“Is there a third?”

 

“No. But they are wise old witches, and you're still so new to this. They are going to offer to train you and I really think you should take them up on it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Sabrina reaches out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

 

“I know this sucks,” she offers. “Believe me, I do. But I am really glad you're here.”

 

Veronica smiles.

 

“Thanks, S.”

 

/\

 

Being one of the upper east side's social elite, Veronica has been to more than her fair share of awkward dinner parties, but none of those experiences hold a candle to the painfully unpleasant meal she shares with Cheryl's family at the Blossom mansion.

 

“Thank you for inviting me,” she says, just to put some words into the uncomfortable void of conversation.

 

“Cheryl invited you,” Penelope easily dismisses. “I have no idea why you're here.”

 

Cheryl is quick to shoot her an apologetic look, but Veronica's gaze shifts to Clifford Blossom, who hasn't uttered a single word during this entire farce of a meal. She can feel some kind of non communication radiating between the patriarchs, just as she had with the Spellman sisters, not reading their thoughts per say but somehow feeling them and translating.

 

It's a harsh judgment toward her. Whether for being born of a mortal mother, or a father they knew and despised, she can't quite decipher. But the repetitive sentiment cycles through them over and over until finally words begin to play themselves in her mind.

 

 _A witch without sin_ , they say bitterly. Of all the blasphemous things their daughter could do to bring further disgrace to this house.

 

Veronica scowls. Having been on the side of such self importance herself, she knows no amount of explanation could curtail that kind of perception. Instead she reaches under the table for Cheryl's hand, who sharply inhales at the contact but neither parent seems to notice, and both girls concentrate on the docile flames burning on the candelabra perched in the middle of the table.

 

In a flash the candles explode upward, causing startled gasps from the adults, the first sound from Clifford all night. Cheryl laughs in delight at her mother's shocked appraisal of her now singed ceiling, while her father can't seem to stop mumbling under his breath, and Veronica rises from her seat pulling Cheryl with her as they leave the table without being excused.

 

-

 

Veronica has noticed there isn't a single trace of Jason left within the confines of the entire house. No pictures mounted, no awards framed, and his room Cheryl pointed out in the tour is left vacant as if no one had ever occupied it at all. She can't imagine what it must feel like. To be one half of a pair, only to have that person taken from you, and not even be able to hang onto any kind of memory at all.

 

Cheryl clings to her, as she's wont to do when offered any kind of affection, relaying her own sympathies for the disappearance of Veronica's mother. It's a fertilizing moment in their budding friendship, and Veronica is more than willing to let it grow, as they continue along to Cheryl's room.

 

Her bed is ridiculously big.

 

Especially considering how petite the girl who utilizes it is. She could roll over three of four time each way without ever hitting the edge. They sit face to face square in the middle, and Veronica feels like she's out to sea, if the water consisted of a giant down comforter.

 

Her phone goes off again, something Cheryl's patience seems to be thinning at.

 

“Is Betty really going to text you every five minutes?” she asks harshly.

 

Veronica dismisses the message and quickly shoves it aside.

 

“She worries,” the brunette offers in platitude. “I don't think she trusts your parents.”

 

“Or me,” Cheryl is quick to rebuke. “Probably thinks I'm going to seduce you with satin sheets and silk lingerie or something.”

 

Veronica's eyebrow lifts at the comment, because she does not doubt that Cheryl's sheets consist of the aforementioned material, or the fact that she is currently dressed in a tiny slip of silk which seduction could be achieved easily were she anyone else. Veronica looks down at her choice of pajamas, practically no better than her friend's, and feels a little foolish for only now realizing this situation may not be entirely appropriate when dating someone who is not the person she's currently sharing a bed with.

 

“Was that a motivating factor in inviting me over?” She questions.

 

Cheryl's lip is quick to curl, swatting playfully at Veronica.

 

“Flatter yourself much?”

 

Veronica waits her out.

 

“Okay fine,” she admits, throwing her hands up with a sigh. “Maybe I thought about it a little, but I knew you'd never go for it, so I really wasn't going to bother.”

 

Veronica shakes her head with a laugh, unable to keep from feeling a little flattered.

 

“What am I going to do with you?”

 

Cheryl grins with ruby red lips, leaning in close enough that Veronica can smell the slightest scent of cherry blossom.

 

“You know what I want to hear.”

 

Veronica sighs, stretching out to grab one of the many plush pillows, and tosses it at her friend's head. Cheryl returns the attack in kind, and the subject is dropped in favor of a good old fashioned pillow fight.

 

/\

 

It's the same clearing in the woods from all her dreams.

 

Feels a little strange to be standing here of her own accord, but Zelda and Hilda insist it's the best place for their lessons. She thought Betty and Sabrina would be joining her, but again at the sisters insistence, she's taking the first course solo.

 

“You have a great deal of power,” Zelda states, arms outstretched, her own seemingly reaching for Veronica's in a gauging kind of way. “But what good is power without the knowledge to fuel it?”

 

“Your father gifted you with all he had,” Hilda interjects. “Now it is up to us to bring these gifts to their maximum potential.”

 

Veronica can feel her too, reaching out with an invisible hand, poking and prodding at her magic. Once again, she can't hear the unspoken words between them clearly, but the message is understood. They are impressed. Still, both sisters continue to probe around until Veronica begins to feel uncomfortable with their efforts. It feels as if their intentions have soured. That they wish to take what she has rather than measure it.

 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she begins to push back, and is met with immediate resistance. Two of them, one of her, they close in until it feels as if they wish to steal the air from her lungs. Beads of sweat form on Veronica's brow, teeth clenched with as much physical effort as she puts into Vixens practice, as she pushes back with all her strength until a flash of magic crackles through the air like lightning.

 

The sisters are knocked to their backs from the surge, and Veronica rushes over to them, kneeling between each. Again, for the briefest of moments, she's looking down at two corpses instead of the women she knows.

 

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes. “You were trying to, I didn't mean-”

 

Hilda laughs first, followed easily by Zelda, and Veronica looks between them confused.

 

“We may have underestimated her,” Zelda comments through her laughter.

 

“No kidding,” Hilda responds in kind.

 

Zelda cranes her neck to meet Veronica's eye.

 

“Thus ends the first lesson,” she offers with a smirk. “Never let another witch take what is rightfully yours.”

 

Veronica offers a hand to each, pulling them to their feet, watching sheepishly as they wipe the dirt from each others backs.

 

“Look at her,” Hilda says to her sister. “So full of questions.”

 

“As a good student should be,” Zelda replies.

 

“I do have a question,” Veronica tosses out, returning the sisters attention to her. “When do I find my sin?”

 

“You don't find _it_ ,” Hilda beings.

 

“So much as _it_ finds you,” Zelda finishes. “With your actions, motivations, and what drives you as a witch.”

 

“Okay,” Veronica accepts. “But like, how long does that take? I mean Betty and Cheryl already have theirs, and I just-”

 

“Feel like you're on the outside looking in,” Hilda interrupts. “Oh honey, don't let it get to you. It's honestly not that imperative to your development.”

 

“The Blossoms sure seem to think so,” Veronica mutters.

 

“Those greedy sycophants are snobs of the highest order,” Zelda dismisses easily. “Lucifer, how much easier our lives would be if we could just excommunicate them and be done with it.”

 

Veronica laughs.

 

“You may find your sin,” Zelda continues. “Or you may not. It doesn't matter to us, as it shouldn't to you. If it's any comfort, know that you are not alone. Our dear Sabrina has yet to find hers as well, and I suspect she might never.”

 

Veronica smiles softly. That is oddly comforting.

 

“Any other questions?” Hilda asks.

 

There is one, Veronica thinks. One she's been meaning to ask since they took her in. One she's terribly afraid of getting an answer to.

 

“Do you know why my mom left?” she blurts.

 

The sisters exchange a look.

 

“I suspect,” Zelda beings.

 

“That she came to the realization,” Hilda continues. “Her place was no longer with you.”

 

Tears form in Veronica's eyes.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Hilda steps forward, placing a hand on Veronica's shoulder, followed swiftly by Zelda.

 

“Mortals are not privy to our way of life,” Zelda fills in. “Your father, the clever man, made his deal so that she would always be protected from what witch law decreed.”

 

“Which was what?”

 

“That she die,” Hilda informs softly.

 

Veronica's heart pounds inside her chest at the very idea.

 

“We would never harm her,” Zelda assures. “But one could assume, she saw the writing on the wall. The deeper you delved into this life, the more dangerous it would be come for her. So perhaps, she did right by you in leaving.”

 

“That makes no sense,” Veronica deflects, wiping away a tear. “She's still my mom, and one of the strongest women I know.”

 

“Of course she is,” Hilda interjects. “But unfortunately, not where we are concerned. The wraith you unleashed would adhere to no deal your father made.”

 

Veronica looks to her in confusion. “The what?”

 

“The beast that chased you through the night,” Zelda informs. “A hell wraith. Come to feed on joy and happiness.”

 

“I did that?”

 

Both Zelda and Hilda nod.

 

“You are desperately in love with Betty Cooper,” Hilda states.

 

“And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Zelda continues. “But we are witches, dear. Our strength, our power, comes from flesh and bone. Pain and misery.”

 

“Abashed the devil stood,” Hilda declares. “And felt how awful goodness is.”

 

“Not merely a decree,” Zelda informs. “But how we live. How we strive. Make no mistake Veronica, this is witchcraft. We serve the dark one, and with that, naturally comes darkness.”

 

“But how did I-”

 

“You were with Betty when it happened, yes?” Hilda asks.

 

Veronica nods.

 

“And the two of you,” Zelda intervenes. “Had a moment? A declaration of something? Perhaps for the first time?”

 

Veronica can't help the blush that spreads into her cheeks.

 

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” She asks.

 

“Of course you are,” Hilda is quick to assure. “But take warning. The pure joy of that moment, hell took notice, and sent something reset the balance.”

 

Veronica looks between their faces, half expecting the smiling skulls to stare back, but their visages remain intact. Briefly, she wonders what kind of demon will come forth when she and Betty are finally ready to...

 

The sisters exchange a glance.

 

Veronica's blush turns deeper.

 

“I think that's enough for today,” Zelda offers.

 

/\

 

This may be her favorite thing about being a witch.

 

Shooting through the star filled sky, wind in her hair, bathed in the glow of a full moon. Her arms outstretch, no longer afraid to loose her balance on the broomstick, and she tilts her head back to call at the night. Part of her wonders, what the arrogant little socialite she used to be would think of her now. How wide her eyes would be, how low her mouth would gape, at the sight of such freedom she could never envision.

 

Her hand dips along the treetops, making slow easy circles across the forest, never taking a single moment for granted. There aren't many lights left on in town, so she veers away from the woods, zigzagging along the streets and heading for one house in particular.

 

The light is still on in Betty's bedroom despite the late hour, as Veronica guides her broom to the window, taking a moment to peek inside before getting her girl's attention. Hunched over her vanity, still hitting the books, but for school or magic Veronica can't tell.

 

She taps gently on the glass, which only partially grabs Betty's attention, her head tilting but not turning to see. Veronica taps longer this time, smirking at the sudden quickness Betty swings around in her chair, and casually waves when the blonde realizes it's her.

 

“What light through yonder window breaks?” Veronica asks upon the window's opening. “It is the east, and Betty is the sun.”

 

Color flushes Betty's cheeks, but she leans across the windowsill to catch Veronica's lips with a kiss, not bothering to ask what she's doing out so late.

 

“You could text before knocking on the window,” Betty teases.

 

“Your cousin is a bad influence,” Veronica defends with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, tapping on your girlfriend's window is kind of classic, isn't it? I mean, it's hardly romantic sending a text that says: _hey babe, on a broom, bring that bodacious butt over to the window_.”

 

Betty's eyes widen before the laughter comes pouring out, clutching her stomach, and doubling over.

 

“If you ever sent me a message like that,” she manages to say between giggles. “I would take a screenshot and have it framed.”

 

Veronica smiles in kind. “You want to go for a ride?” She asks.

 

Betty can't help to glance at her bedroom door, and Veronica knows Alice has been on the warpath ever since Polly threw that house party when she and Hal were away on a journalist's retreat.

 

“Okay,” she agrees. “But I can't be gone for too long. Mom has not let up on the lock down, even though there was nothing I could do about the party. I seriously thought she was going to bind Polly to her bedposts for the last week.”

 

“Just a little while,” Veronica assures. “I'll have you back before she knows it.”

 

Offering her hand, she helps Betty slip out the window and onto the broom with only a few awkward shifts for placement. Veronica sighs contently when the blonde's arms slip around her waist, chin dropping onto her shoulder.

 

“Where are we going?” She asks into Veronica's ear.

 

Veronica turns her head to answer, but is cut off by Betty pressing a kiss against her cheek.

 

“So affectionate tonight,” she teases.

 

“You said something about being romantic,” Betty replies. “Taking me on a moonlit broom ride, is pretty damn, so you're going to get lots of affection.”

 

Veronica grins. “Promise?”

 

Betty kisses her shoulder.

 

“Cross my heart.”

 

Veronica tilts the broom upward, shooting them into the sky, laughing soundly when Betty howls toward the moon.

 

“This is amazing!” she shouts over the air rushing around them.

 

Veronica doesn't disagree, guiding them toward the river, that picture in her mind the first time she ever flew finally coming to fruition. Angling them downward, she manages to hover the broom a few feet above the surface, Betty reaching out with the right to dip her fingers into the icy water.

 

The moon's reflection ripples with the current, as Veronica too immerses her fingers under the water but with her left, and leans back into Betty who strengthens her one-armed hold. They've already discussed keeping declarations of love to a minimum, lest they incur hell's wraith upon themselves again, but in such a perfect moment of happiness Veronica feels no fear when she utters those three words.

 

Because even the devil itself will come to learn.

 

Never cross a Lodge.

 


	6. corrupts absolutely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Odalis, who basically demanded this.

She dreams.

 

Oh what a relief it is, not to be in that familiar clearing in the woods, surrounded by the denizens of Riverdale. To feel as if this is truly a world of her own making, rather than some nefarious plot, to bring about the end of a life she once knew.

 

A field of flowers stretches as far as the eye can see, and she wades through them like water, stopping every now and then to pluck a few from their stems and bring the blooms to her nose. Their scent so sickly sweet it's almost overwhelming.

 

Betty is there, reaching for her hand, and instantly Veronica feels the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders. Unsure just how long they tiptoe through the tulips, each second feeling like forever, she's hit with an urge to fly without the aid of a broom. Squeezing Betty's hand, she's about to test the theory of subconscious gravity, when a crack of lightning flashes overhead. It's followed quickly by the boom of thunder, and a sudden downpour falling upon their heads, but neither girl dares to run for over.

 

Tilting her head up with a welcoming laugh, Betty catches raindrops on her tongue, and Veronica easily follows suit. Groaning bitterly at the sudden taste of copper in her mouth, her head shifts swiftly to her girl who doesn't seem to notice at all, even with her golden hair matted down and stained red from the rain.

 

“Betty,” she calls softly, reaching for her, unnerved that she hasn't stopped laughing. That she is not bothered at all by what showers down on them.

 

She only turns when Veronica repeats her name, smile still lingering, as her tongue shifts to lick the droplets from her bottom lip. When they kiss Veronica does not resist, though the blood in their mouths makes her feel like drowning.

 

 _This is what her sin brings_ , a small voice whispers inside her mind. _This is the monster who claims your heart._

 

Pulling back to see that Betty's eyes have gone dark, Veronica recoils from the girl, gaze wary on her clenched fists.

 

The rain shifts from red to black, burning flowers away like acid, the fluid levels suddenly waist high.

 

“Betty!” she shouts, when a giant oily hand appears behind her girlfriend, grabbing in one swift motion to pull her beneath the surface.

 

“Betty!” she shouts again when the girl doesn't reappear, the slick black goop now at her neck.

 

 _A witch so happy_ , the voice calls again. _So content, is hardly a witch at all._

 

“No!” Veronica denies. “I am what I am. What I'm meant to be.”

 

The voice laughs cruelly.

 

_And what are you? A witch without sin. Without sweet misery. Only here by a birthright you don't deserve._

 

Veronica doesn't feel just one hand pull her under, but dozens clawing away, tearing her to pieces while the scream doesn't make it past her lips as the black oily sludge fills her lungs.

 

-

 

“Veronica!” a voice shouts, breaking through the dream, eyes snapping open to the ceiling of her borrowed room in the Spellman house.

 

“Veronica!” Sabrina calls again, arm outstretched, pulling at the crook of Veronica's elbow.

 

The ceiling seems a lot closer than it should be, and the second Veronica realizes it's because she's floating several feet above her bed, the magic that levitates her breaks. Crashing down to the mattress with a thump, she scrambles to sit upright, eyes daring between the concerned faces of Sabrina and her Aunts.

 

“What?” She questions, confused. “What happened?”

 

“You were dreaming,” Sabrina fills in.

 

“Dreaming?” she repeats, still groggy.

 

“Must have been a good one too,” Sabrina goes on. “I mean, the whole house was shaking and you, kind of went all exorcist above your bed and everything.”

 

“I'm afraid it may be more than that,” Zelda pipes in. “You feel it too, don't you Hilda?”

 

“Indeed I do,” Hilda confirms.

 

“Feel what?” Sabrina asks.

 

“A spell,” Zelda explains. “Sneaky, nasty little thing, violating the sanctity of our home. Trying to get at our sweet Veronica.”

 

Goosebumps dot Veronica's skin.

 

“Get at me?” she echoes, running a hand through her hair, disturbed at the amount of sweat beading on her forehead. “For what?”

 

Zelda and Hilda share a grim look.

 

“Aunties?” Sabrina implores when she sees it.

 

“Your power dear,” Hilda replies to Veronica. “It wanted your power.”

 

/\

 

It's the cool down period after Vixens practice, and Veronica is chatting idly with Betty as they sip from their water bottles, when she spots Cheryl trying to approach them from the corner of her eye. The girl hesitates after that first initial step, takes another, then stops again. Veronica keeps her attention focused on Betty, keeping tabs on her friend's progress, until she finally braves the distance.

 

“Veronica?” she questions with her head down, still visibly terrified of Betty Cooper. “Do you have a minute?”

 

It's an odd position to be in, Veronica muses. Two of the most important people in her social life, hate each other so much that it seems like they can't stand to breathe the same air. She can feel Betty about to shoot down the redhead's request, but Veronica throws up a hand, which only earns a glare from her girlfriend.

 

“Sure,” Veronica replies, then to Betty. “I'll be right back.”

 

Cheryl immediately heads toward one of the gym's exits, Veronica following closely, and can feel Betty's eyes follow their every step. Cheryl doesn't dare say a word, or look back, until the door is within reach. Both girls cast a backward glance at the blonde, who hasn't moved a muscle, watching with arms folded.

 

Veronica gives a small wave, as Cheryl slips out the door.

 

“What's up?” She asks once they're outside.

 

Cheryl doesn't answer at first, fidgeting with her hands, teasing those regrown talons along the inside of her wrist.

 

“Cheryl?”

 

“How have you been sleeping lately?” she finally inquires, avoiding eye contact.

 

Veronica's breath catches, this the second time she's asked that exact question.

 

“What do you know?” She demands instantly.

 

Those talons draw blood along pale skin, which Veronica quickly reaches out to stop.

 

“Hey,” she tries again, softer. “If you know something, tell me. Please.”

 

Cheryl still doesn't look at her.

 

“I overheard mommy and daddy talking,” she informs. “They never think I listen, but I always do. They're planning something for the coven. Something big.”

 

Finally she turns her head to meet Veronica's eyes.

 

“Something that has to do with you.”

 

The dream, Veronica thinks. The voice that wasn't hers, wasn't Betty's, saying such unpleasant things.

 

“What about me?”

 

Cheryl bites her lip.

 

“They want what you have.”

 

Power.

 

“And like anything that can't be bought, they aim to take it.”

 

 _Never let another witch take what is rightfully yours_ , Zelda's words echo in her mind.

 

“How?”

 

“I'm not sure,” Cheryl admits. “They didn't say much after that. But mommy has always loved prying into people's dreams. That's when an enemy is most vulnerable, she always says. I mean, with the way the coven went about your transformation, it doesn't take a genius to figure she would do something similar.”

 

Veronica's hand is still on Cheryl's wrist, so she pulls her closer, the hug not met with resistance but the girl remains rigid.

 

“You're always trying to warn me,” she states warmly. “I can't help but wonder why.”

 

“Because,” Cheryl replies as if she can't believe it's not obvious. “You're kind to me.”

 

“Even if it goes against your family?”

“What do I care?”

 

Veronica frowns.

 

“You don't mean that.”

 

Cheryl laughs brokenly.

 

“I hate them.”

 

“They're still your parents.”

 

“Are they?” Cheryl retorts. “Might want to remind them of that if you ever get the chance.”

 

Veronica gives a little squeeze.

 

“They don't,” she begins, but stumbles on how to broach the subject. “Hurt you. Do they?”

 

Cheryl doesn't answer.

 

“Do they?”

 

“They ignore me,” she offers quietly, before bursting into tears. “It didn't matter before. I always had Jason. But he's gone, and they're so cold, even for witches. It's like they don't have souls.”

 

Veronica honestly doesn't know how to reply to that, so doesn't, just holds her friend and offers the only condolence she know matters to Cheryl.

 

“You're pretty,” she coos gently into her ear. “You're so pretty.”

 

“You really mean that?” Cheryl asks with a sniff, pulling back so she can see it in her eyes.

 

“You,” Veronica affirms, reaching up to wipe away the tears. “Are freaking gorgeous.”

 

/\

 

“Is this really a good idea?” Betty asks as they approach the front gate of Thornhill.

 

“Probably not,” Veronica concedes, reaching out a hand to the iron bars, whispering softly the words that bend them to her will. “But I'm still pissed off enough to go through with it.”

 

The metal groans as Veronica twists her hand, then yanks an arm back, causing the gate to burst open. They storm up the walk, both slightly surprised at no instantaneous retaliation for destruction of property, when Betty casts a sidelong glance.

 

“I should have mentioned this before,” she says. “But there are rules about this kind of thing.”

 

Veronica keeps her eyes fixed on the front door.

 

“Well I don't follow rules, I make them. And when necessary, I break them.”

 

“I just mean that an accusation of treachery is a serious matter. It should be brought before the coven and-”

 

“A little late for that now, B.”

 

Betty sighs.

 

“Why isn't Sabrina with us? More power in threes, you know.”

 

“Because she'd try to talk me out of it.”

 

“Isn't that what I'm doing?”

 

“Kind of,” Veronica agrees. “But in the end you're just going to follow my lead, aren't you sweetie?”

 

Betty sighs again.

 

“I'll take that as a yes.”

 

Veronica throws a hand toward the door.

 

“You're not going to knock?” Betty asks.

 

“The bitch invaded my dreams, Betts.” Veronica grumbles. “I think we're past waltzing into her mansion without an invitation.”

 

Fingers outstretched, Veronica focuses her will into the hand, sending out a blast that blows the door from its hinges. They cross the threshold together, but Betty pulls away to stand in the middle of foyer. Veronica glances up to the top of the stairs, once again surprised at the lack of response to her destructive ways towards the Blossom's entrances, then moves closer to Betty who's now kneeling and gingerly touching a spot on the floor.

 

“Betty?” she questions.

 

“I haven't been here since it happened,” she replies, fingers moving in slow circles. “This is where he fell. After I...”

 

“Admiring your handiwork?” a voice calls from above.

 

Betty jumps up to her feet, moving to shield Veronica from Penelope Blossom's sight line, but the brunette quickly sidesteps her girl.

 

“What did you hope to accomplish?” Penelope asks, eyes focused solely on Veronica. “With such a grand entrance?”

 

“To get your attention,” she retorts. “Which apparently is higher maintenance than I thought.”

 

Penelope laughs coldly.

 

“Perhaps I should call the sheriff. Destruction of private property is quite a serious offense.”

 

“Do that,” Veronica rebukes. “Keller is on the coven's council, isn't he? I'm sure he'd love to hear about your breaking and entering into other people's dreams.”

 

The older woman laughs again.

 

“Child, if that were your intent you would have gone straight to him, and I wouldn't be in need of a new door and gate.”

 

Veronica scowls in lieu of a reply.

 

“So naive,” Penelope continues. “Thinking such a display of your abilities would intimidate me. As if I'm not already aware of what you're capable of. It's why I covet that power in the first place.”

 

“It's not yours to have!” Betty chimes in, earning the elder witch's attention and a narrowing of her eyes.

 

“Hush you brute,” she dismisses easily. “You've got a lot of nerve setting foot in this house again. After what you've done to this family.”

 

Just as she had that awkward night spent here with Cheryl, Veronica feels the woman's thoughts, no longer focused on her unworthiness as a witch but heavy leaden with guilt. The hollow space where a heart should be, pings with the loss of a child, especially since it was her word to the coven that led to his end. Something she's never admitted to anyone.

 

“Jason is dead because of you,” Veronica shoots back, causing the first chip in the woman's cool facade.

 

“You stay out of my mind,” she hisses.

 

Veronica can't help the laughter that bubbles up.

 

“Says the crazy lady invading my dreams and trying to steal my magic.”

 

Penelope extends a hand toward them.

 

“I've had enough of this, you insolent whelp.”

 

An invisible force binds Veronica's wrists and ankles, just as Clifford Blossom appears out of nowhere to physically restrain Betty, pinning her arms behind her back. Veronica tries to shout something at him but finds her mouth just as bound as her limbs.

 

“You've inherited a great gift,” Penelope begins, waltzing down the stairs as if she hasn't a care in the world. “But as with the perils of youth, the potential of it is wasted on one so young.”

 

“Who are you to decide that?” Betty snaps before Clifford slaps a hand over her mouth.

 

“Your father was a great witch,” she continues unfazed. “But selfish and unfocused. To think of all he could have achieved with what he was capable of, only to end up at the mercy of our master like some pauper with that arcane crossroads deal.”

 

Penelope saunters right up to Veronica and grabs her face firmly in hand.

 

“Tell me,” she jeers. “How sure are you of your father's love, if he could just relinquish that lavish life he gave so easily?”

 

Veronica growls from her bonds, but cannot break free.

 

“Don't worry dear,” Penelope assures, shifting her arms toward the ceiling in a manic gesture. “You can ask him yourself soon enough.”

 

The spell comes sharply in a Latin chant, Veronica's eyes suddenly heavy, as the interior of the grand house slowly fades from view.

 

-

 

Unsure how much time passes before she's able to open her eyes again, that same black bile from her dream is the first thing she can focus on, which she appears to be floating neck deep in. Though she tries not to panic, her mouth forms a scream regardless, echoing across the empty nothing.

 

“Fighting will only make it worse,” Penelope's voice mocks from an unknown direction.

 

“You can't have what is mine!” Veronica shouts into the dark.

 

Chilling laughter surrounds her.

 

“You stupid girl. I've already taken it.”

 

The bile rises rapidly above her head, she tries so hard not to swallow, but it breaks past her lips and fills her lungs faster than water ever could. Unable to breathe, she can feel death on her heels, and thinks longingly about the privileged life she once had. A loving mother and father who doted on her every whim. Popularity and friendship that barely held any trace of depth, but was hers to relish. The kind of freedom only money could ever bring.

 

Abandoned by all, she knows, but can't help to miss it just the same.

 

She thinks of the second life she's barely started. Finding a strength she never knew herself suited for, a town first scorned, but met with such acceptance within its limits. Of newfound family, friends, and love she never thought herself worthy of.

 

_Betty._

 

God, she hopes the Blossom's take pity on her. That she doesn't end up a blank slated grave in their own personal cemetery. She wants to call her name so desperately. Just one last time so she could leave that mark on the universe. That the last thought she ever had was of her.

 

Strange.

 

There is no pain.

 

She should have lost consciousness by now, but instead finds herself simply floating though the abyss. Dismay and confusion overtake her thoughts, because death would have led to somewhere, rather than this endless nothing.

 

Is this where Cheryl was sent?

 

It's a wonder she didn't go mad, like Veronica feels she might, if she has to endure this for much longer.

 

Something flickers in the distance.

 

A kind of golden, amber light that seems to draw her in when she reaches with her mind toward it. The closer she gets the brighter it becomes, its size almost doubling, then begins to pulse and emit sound. It's difficult to understand initially, but she reaches with her mind again, concentrating with whatever strength she has left.

 

It's... Calling her. Her name repeated over and over again, in a familiar voice she hasn't heard since they took him away in handcuffs.

 

“Daddy?”

 

_My precious, Veronica._

 

“Where are you?” she asks. “Where am I?”

 

_Nowhere. Neither dead or alive._

 

“How is this happening?”

 

_The how and why are irrelevant. It simply is._

 

“Can I go back?”

 

_Of course you can._

 

“How?”

 

_You're my daughter. Use the power I gave you._

 

If she had tears, they would be flowing.

 

“Oh daddy, it's been taken.”

 

_Has it?_

 

“Yes!”

 

_My dear, you must look deeper. What has been taken from you is merely a fraction of my gift. You are so much stronger than you know._

 

“B-but...”

 

_Trust my word._

 

Once she calms down, Veronica tries to do as suggested, focusing inwardly and gathering whatever remnant of magic is still there. So little at first, but yes, there is definitely something left. She scrapes and claws at it, Daddy's encouraging words fueling her, until the power rejuvenates itself like she's never felt before.

 

_That's my girl._

 

“I don't want to leave you.”

 

_I'm already gone, but you must go on. Take what is rightfully yours and break free._

 

“Do you know my sin?” she can't help to ask one final question. “I mean, power is one thing, but what about-”

 

_So many witches focus only on one, when they could be capable of all._

 

“What does that mean?

 

_Go now, before you can't, and you show that covetous lech what happens when you cross a Lodge._

 

-

 

Light explodes around her, and instantly she's back in Thornhill, hovering above Penelope Blossom's appalled expression.

 

“Impossible!” she shouts. “I took what is yours! It belongs to me!”

 

Veronica looks down to Betty, still on her knees at Clifford's mercy.

 

“Betty,” she calls down. “I know what you are. I know what you've done. Now, I want you to show me.”

 

A guttural growl emerges from the blonde, so loud and terrifying, that the adults lose focus in attempt to cover their ears. Once Betty is free, she casts a quick glance up at Veronica with solid red eyes, then turns her attention back to Clifford who now cowers before her.

 

Betty's fist connects with bone crushing tenacity, the punch dropping the man instantly, but that doesn't deter her from pummeling him further. Each blow rained upon him with all the fury her sin brings. Penelope doesn't even try to interfere, hands suddenly trembling, the monster that killed her son let loose in her house once more.

 

“You want to know my sin, mother Blossom?” Veronica taunts, smiling cruelly when the woman's attention refocuses to her. “All of them.”

 

She thrusts her open palms down, the full force of her magic unleashed in a concussive blast, burning Penelope Blossom to a cauterized husk almost instantly. Veronica spirals slowly to the ground once the energy dissipates, having used so much she nearly passes out from the effort, collapsing onto the floor the second her feet hit.

 

Cheryl appears behind her mother, the half dead woman still gasping for breath, and kneels down next to her.

 

“You did a bad thing, mommy.” She admonishes softly. “And now you're going to pay for it.”

 

Penelope tries to voice a reply, though hardly has a tongue left to form one, but Veronica can still hear her mind.

 

_Ungrateful, vapid, little brat._

 

Cheryl leans down to stroke her mother's cheek with one hand, before reaching back with the other, those talons viciously slashing away her throat.

 

Exhausted now, Veronica begins to drift away, the last thing she sees is both Betty and Cheryl reaching for her with crimson stained fingers.

 

/\

 

(Epilogue)

 

Cheryl has settled into the Spellman house quite nicely after burying her parents in the family graveyard, then burning Thornhill to the ground.

 

With three teenage witches under their roof, coupled with Betty's daily visits, Zelda and Hilda joke about starting some kind of witchcraft academy. The idea isn't as crazy as it sounds, with the large number of magically inclined adolescents in town. Given the chance, such training could lead them to become the most powerful coven in the world.

 

“Just an idea,” Zelda laughs over the dinner table, matched easily by her sister, Sabrina, and Cheryl while Salem hides among their feet, hunting for scraps.

 

Veronica reaches for Betty's hand under the table, earning a shy smile.

 

Of all this sins she's capable, Veronica knows, being a witch in love just might be the sweetest.

 

 


End file.
